Always
by Shimmershot
Summary: Oneshot.  "They're in perfectly capable hands now.  And they always will be."


I freeze, taking in the sight that greets me as the Med Bay doors slide open. Energon coats the floor. There are bodies everywhere. The worst thing is the sound of pained groans… the sound of systems crashing and internal mechanical failures. It's a sight I hate. One that is disturbingly reoccurring.

I hear my mentor shouting at me to get a move on; that these mechs needed help, stat, and that they wouldn't get it if their medic was too busy taking in the sights. He's shouting from across the room, probably already elbow deep in some mech's chassis. I don't look for him, knowing he's right. I have to get moving. I have to jump in if I want anyone to be saved.

Triage. This kind of mess is best summed up by a term from the humans. "Meatball Surgery". It doesn't sit well with me. No attention to detail. Get them fixed enough to survive. Additional work can be done at a later time. Not now. Time is of the essence for every bot in here. And that sometimes means the need to pick and choose.

My mentor absolutely refuses to pick and choose. He's always been about saving whoever he can. He always takes on the cases with the least amount of possible survival. He's a miracle worker. Always has been. I've seen him do things I only wish I could perform. There's no denying his prowess. He is Cybertron's greatest medic, and I am honored to have studied under him.

I scan the mechs on the tables, logging them all into categories. It's almost strange that Ratchet hasn't done so yet. Or maybe he did, and just didn't upload it to the database? Either way, I moved to the closest mech, opening their armor to fix fried circuitry and other such maladies, before quickly moving on to the next bot.

I can hear Ratchet yelling for Rivet to keep a steadier hand. Rivet is green when it comes to medical practices. Almost as much as I am. Granted, he's older than I am, and has had far longer to study and learn… but I learned under the best in the fast paces of a heated war-front. Rivet isn't used to the destruction that comes from the front lines.

I come across Sideswipe. Sunstreaker is nowhere to be found, meaning the yellow twin was probably still on the front lines. I stall though, as I realize, Sideswipe won't survive. Not without a lot more effort than could be spared. I still move to attempt. I pick up the lazar scalpel, my scans informing me of exactly how much damage had been done.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, stalling any further movement. I know that hand. And where as I would normally shrug it off and move to help, I don't dare in this moment. "Let me take care of this one kid. Go help Gears, over there." His tone is light, soothing, and full of some emotion I just can't pinpoint.

So I go. Not daring to look over my shoulder, not even to see the strong expression that filled me with confidence. I left Sideswipe to my mentor.

I replace the paneling on my current patient without a second thought, and move on to the next. I ignore the fact we have bodies lined up in the far end of the room, by the CMO's office. We don't have the time to do any more than shove our dead into the corner. A depressing notion.

I can hear Rivet making a soothing sound to whoever he's working on at this point. The sound in his voice tells me far more than I wanted to know. He was adding the list of injuries to the database, and I internally winced as I read through them. Shattered struts and punctured fuel lines… sparking electrical wiring in the mech's helm, signifying that the mech may become permanently blinded even with treatment… the list was continuing. Not life threatening with medical treatment, but painful nonetheless.

I lift my head up when I hear Rivet say something to me specifically. I realize that the chaos I'd been seeing had dwindled. Mechs were still in pain, but their pain was significantly reduced. These would live. Live for another day of war. To go out, guns blazing, and risk returning in the same shape they arrived in today. A never ending cycle.

I stare in the direction of our makeshift morgue. I see Sideswipe among the four lost, and my spark pulses in pain. There was no hope for him. And that fact stung me even more than I should have allowed. If we'd had the staff and the time, perhaps there would have been. But in war, medics are hard to come by, and time is ever elusive.

"Good job 'Aid," Rivet says to me. We only lost four today. When the odds were against us. Two medics working to save a platoon of dying soldiers. I give him a grim smile in return, whispering a "Right back at ya", before I move to my office, passing the greyed bodies of our fallen comrades as I went.

I know Rivet heads to the Rec Room. I can't bear to leave the Med Bay. Not with so many wounded. So I stare at my door, keeping an audial out for anything the mechs in my Med Bay might need. I slouch, allowing my emotions to come to the top.

I feel a hand on my shoulder again. I give a watery smile to the floor. I'm thankful. I needn't worry about our lost. They're in perfectly capable hands now. And they always will be.

**A/N: Terrible title, I know. Anyway, this is a little one shot I just thought up. I never saw the '86 movie… though I know what happened. This is partially inspired from that idea.**


End file.
